


Malarkey

by burgermeister_meisterburger



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Grif Ball, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Samoan Grif, Samoan Kaikaina, malarkey - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-03-23 06:17:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13781511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burgermeister_meisterburger/pseuds/burgermeister_meisterburger
Summary: The Reds and Blues weren't exaggerating when they said malarkey won out in the end as their ruling form of government. Locus heavily debates if coming back was the best idea.





	1. The Best Game Since Itself

What felt like a lifetime of hiding under a helmet and routinely moving about with active camo had left Locus woefully impaired when it came to social protocol. Specifically, not awkwardly gawking at things that caught him off guard, a habit he kept neglecting to curb. In his defense, the Red team—hell, all of them, the Reds, the Blues, the ex-Freelancers—were admittedly not quite like anyone he’d ever met. It was likely instinctive to everyone who mistakenly fell into their path.

To make matters worse, no one ever scolded him for it, so he wasn’t falling out of the habit of unattractively glaring at every little goddamn thing. This only led to comments from Caboose like, “I stared at the sun once. Now I can see the sun without having to look up anymore cause it’s right there but black for some reason!”

Locus scrutinized the glaringly white flecks along Grif’s otherwise dark skin. At a distance it looked like vitiligo until close quarters with the man led to the realization that he looked like a shoddy imitation of Frankenstein. Not only did Grif look like he’d been halfheartedly blown to bits, it looked like someone did an even worse job of re-assembling him.

“-cus? Locus. Buddy! Partner! Amigo!”

The chair he’d be sitting in about cracked in to against the wall from the sheer speed at which Locus had flung himself out of it when he felt the table beneath his palms jiggle. Grif accepted it with a suspicious amount of ease and kept eating his sandwich.

Locus slowly moved to sit back down and ignored the burning in his cheeks. “You had that, like, thousand yard stare going on. I’ve only ever seen you look at Wash like that before.”

“I don’t stare at Agent Washington.”

“I take that back—with Wash there’s usually a bit more drooling involved. And blushing. Fuck, do you turn red.”

Locus resisted the urge to sweep up the crumbs dropping from Grif’s mouth too while he wiped up the coffee he spilled over the rim of his mug in his hasty retreat. “I think you’re embellishing.”

“Ah-hah! But you do stare at him!”

And that need to beat a hasty retreat made a sudden resurgence and Locus found himself drifting uncomfortably away towards the sink to dump out the rest of his lukewarm coffee, stomach turning at the line of questioning. Grif kept talking.

“But seriously, what’s on your mind, buddy? You were really out of it for a sec.”

Locus tried not to let Grif’s casual terms of endearment get to him and thought of how to broach the topic. “Your….face?” Fuck, he was awkward.

“What about it? Oh, don’t tell me; Wash is nice and all, but quite literally pales in comparison to this hot hunk of Samoan—“

“Your scars. What happened?”

Locus fully expected Grif to shut down—most men did when you blatantly asked about their scars. More unexpected was the twinge of regret for asking so carelessly--he hated it when people asked about his face--

“Oh those? Tucker fucking ran me over with the goddamn tank.”

“Come again?”

“Yeah, they had some stupid plan to get rid of O’Malley or Omega or whatever the fuck his name was and they needed our radios off or some shit cause it would kill him or something, and they rammed our base with the tank and made Lopez sing and broadcasted it everywhere till we turned our radios off.”

Locus blinked. “But how did that lead to you being crushed by a…tank?”

Grif leaned over in his chair to glare into the hallway as he shouted, “Because somebody left a jazz CD in the jeep and just haaaad to go get it!”

Donut’s voice echoed back at them. “That was a limited edition release!”

“Nobody has used CDs in the past billion years!”

“Which is why it was limited edition!”

Grif groaned. “So long story short, Donut and I went to go get the CD out of the Warthog, the Blues charged the jeep with the tank while we were getting the CD, and I didn’t get my fat ass out of the way in time.”

Locus’s list of questions kept growing, as did his increasing reluctance to ask for further clarification. It must have showed on his face.

“As for my fucked up skin, that’s cause Sarge replaced my broken bits with pieces from Simmons, who he turned into a cyborg.”

Locus was beginning to realize with startling clarity that the Reds and Blues being hailed as some underdog heroes was gradually starting to make a shit ton more sense because they were apparently fucking cockroaches in body armor. Except… “Why didn’t he simply replace your destroyed extremities with cybernetic enhancements instead of Simmons?”

“Fuck, I know, right? Sarge said he didn’t “trust me” to be a good cyborg or some shit. But honestly, it’s probably for the best, cause now Simmons’s ass is a printer.”

The colonel’s gruff voice carried down the hall towards the kitchen. “It’s a fax machine, numb nuts!”

“No one fucking uses fax machines anymore, either!” The orange soldier groaned and wadded up the paper towel he’d wrapped his sandwich in, aiming for the trash bin. He predictably missed the opening. Locus was surprised when he actually went to pick up his trash. 

“Christ, he wasn’t kidding when he said he cleaned up.”

The price of not flinching was cracking the empty mug still in Locus’s hands. Thank God he’d never had enemies smart (or was it dumb?) enough to slink around in their bare feet, else more than half of his missions would have been purely reliant on his helmet’s motion tracker instead of hearing.

“I told you guys I could be tidy when I want to!”

Remembering Grif’s words, Locus made a point to glare elsewhere when Washington slid up next to him and gently took the cracked mug from his hands like a dutiful spouse handling the family’s dishes for the morning. Decidedly too happy about the warmth of the ex-Freelancer besides him and his rather nice beard, Locus beat a hasty retreat back towards the table, only to second guess himself about sitting back down for further conversation with Grif and now potentially Washington, too. Grif, naturally, noticed.

“Oh my God, dudes, I just realized: we finally play an even match of Grifball!”

Locus’s memory flickered briefly back to his first meeting with the orange sim trooper in months, the man about to break down into tears surrounded by crudely painted volleyballs. He was going to, wisely, back out of the kitchen, but found himself unintentionally pausing when Washington joined the conversation.

“How so?”

“Think about it: Carolina never wants to play, just ref, so we always had the unfair advantage because the Blues had your crazy kung-fu skills and shit to back them up during a match. But now that Locus is a part of Red Team, the sides are finally evenly matched!”

Locus wanted to butt in for a second and ask just when in the hell he became an official member of Red Team when Washington was pressing a new mug into hands, filled with a hot tea instead of coffee. He about nearly dropped the mug when the ex-Freelancer shot him a subtle wink, moving to stand next to him and sip his own tea decidedly very close to Locus. He tried not to notice the light dusting of freckles. “I dunno...we’re still oddly numbered,” he said in his gravelly voice. It was much rougher from trauma than when the two first met, and he definitely only felt guilty about it and under no circumstance did he think it more attractively chilling. “With Locus playing, it’d be five against four.”

“Sarge keeps insisting that the teams need “managers” or some shit lately. How about instead of Carolina reffing, we get Doc to reff, and then she and Sarge can be team captains? She likes bossing people around anyways.”

Washington fixed Grif with a cocked eyebrow. “You gonna tell her that to her face?”

“Fuck off, Blue. Like you’d tell her that to her face either!”

“I have told her to her face,” he said with a deeply unimpressed glare. “I held a gun, to her face, because she was bossy.” Locus tried not to react to that statement. When the hell had that happened? 

“We’ll just get Kai to tell her. She’s great at shit like that. And she doesn't even need a fucking gun.”

“Sure,” Washington deadpanned. He took a sip of his tea and regarded Locus, who tried not to flush under his gaze. “He does a fair point though: the teams would be even now if you played. You in?”

“I don’t...know what Grifball is.”

That sent the colonel sliding into the kitchen, colliding with fridge. “It’s the best game since itself!”


	2. Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As most have probably guessed or otherwise inferred from the title, there's going to be little rhyme or reason to how these go. It'll be a lot of...malarkey. But I'm also totally open to suggestions if someone has something they'd like to see, or situations they can imagine happening amongst this band of weirdos. With my classes I can't promise too many quick updates like these, but I'd like to see how far I can go with this.

“Dude, the pizza!”

Locus tried not to flinch when the orange soldier’s hand slapped down on his shoulder. “...what about it?”

“We didn’t get it!”

Locus tried to casually roll his shoulder free of Grif’s grip instead of yanking free. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about…”

Grif finally let go. “Sammy’s in Ithaca! The pizza joint!”

“Okay…”

“Remember how I said we should go get pizza for the guys cause they were probably hungry? When we on that crazy mission to go save them from those whack jobs?”

“...no?” 

“Well I did! And I just realized I haven’t had pizza in like a gazillion years!”

“All right…”

“Dude,” he said in a deep, serious tone, “we gotta go get pizza.”

Locus’s eyes flickered briefly down to the gun he had laid out for cleaning on the picnic table in front of him, then to he ex-Freelancers carefully moving through some light yoga out in front of the Blue base, taking things slowly after their painful stint in confinement. “...do we have to go right now?”

“You can oogle Wash later! We need pizza now!”

“I wasn’t--”

“Are we going on an adventure?”

Caboose elicited a startled yelp from Grif, popping up like a gopher from out of nowhere. Locus was seriously considering finding a new mission to keep himself occupied for the next six months. 

“What the fuck did I say about that?!”

“Are we getting tacos?”

“No, we’re getting pizza, dumbass.”

“Oh, good. I hate tacos.”

Grif caught Locus by the shoulder when he tried to creep away. “Hey, can I drive this time?”

“Uh…”

“Caboose!” Grif screamed as the Blue sprinted towards the A'rynasea, “put your fucking shoes on, you animal!”

-

Locus held on tightly to the controls. He feared if he didn’t Grif would actually make an attempt to drive the ship this time. He had to bat the orange soldier out of the pilot’s seat when they first embarked, Grif actually putting up some resistance this time. Locus was remained unsure as to whether he should take Grif’s fearless attitude towards him as a good sign or not--he usually knew when someone was merely acting on bravado, as Felix had been prone to do around him towards the end of their partnership. Now, he was less sure.

“Christ, these fucking things,” Grif groaned when he finally noticed the volleyballs still lodged within parts of A'rynasea’s console. He nudged Simmons with his shoe. “I still can’t believe I actually made these.”

“You were...extremely isolated. For a length of time. Everyone reacts differently to that, I suppose.”

“Dude, I was completely off my rocker.”

Locus forced back an unexpected smirk, muttering, “You said it, not me.”

“Dude!”

Locus expected another volley of long-winded musings, but Grif stayed surprisingly silent for a time. Caboose was fussing around with something behind them, but Locus had very little in the way of personal effects that he feared Caboose might accidently break. For once, it was shaping up to be a somewhat tolerable ride.

“So why’d you keep them?” 

Locus inhaled sharply at the question. Fuck.

“Oh my God!” Caboose shrieked. “There’s so many colors!”

“Yes,” Locus said, glancing minutely in Caboose’s direction. “The inside of the ship is very...colorful.”

Grif looked back behind them and groaned. “He means his fucking crayons. Caboose! What did we say about coloring on other people’s stuff?”

“That I should only use red colors in Red Base!”

“Besides that!”

“Oh, right!” Locus’s only warning was the slap of bare feet on the floor before Caboose’s head of messy brown hair suddenly appeared over his shoulder, two fistful of crayons held out in front of him. “Mr. Hocus Pocus, what is your favorite color?”

“Caboose, put your fucking shoes back on.”

The SPARTAN I tattoo on the inside of the Blue soldier’s right arm took Locus by surprise, the sleeves of his military issued lounge clothing pushed up to his elbows. How the fuck had neither he nor Felix been able to dig this up about Caboose? Did his teammates even recognize the significance? Washington or Carolina had to know what this meant, right? He gaped for a second before remembering his self-imposed promise to break his staring habit. Not that Caboose would notice. “Blue,” he lied. 

“Oh my gosh! That’s my favorite color too! Blue is the best color of them all!” He tore off into the back the cramped aft of the ship.

“Caboose, don’t color on the walls!”

“Tucker did it!”

“I just fucking watched you do it!”

Locus put a hand out to way off Grif before his head pounded any harder from the yelling. “The walls clean...very easily. He can wipe it them off once we’re done.”

Grif scoffed. “Good fucking luck with that. We’ve been trying for years.”

“You mean like the others have been trying to get you to clean up after yourself for years?”

Grif shot him a glare that eased into smirk, and he laughed to himself. The easy silence resumed, save for a few indistinct rambling soliloquies from Caboose in the aft.

Except Locus was evidently no longer capable of appreciating silence, so he mumbled out, “I was extremely isolated, for a time. Everyone reacts differently. ”

“Dude, what the fuck are you talking about--” Grif cut himself off. Locus refused to look his way, heart hammering. Why’d he admit that? Christ, would he tell the others? Did Caboose overhear?

Caboose shouted from the minimalist galley. “Oh, great! How did that even catch fire?” 

“Damn it, Caboose!” Grif made to stand up. “You should probably check on him. I’ll steer till you get back.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Locus grumbled, setting the ship to auto-pilot before darting back to the aft. If it had been a serious threat, A'rynasea would have alerted him. The mental image of Caboose with burnt hands and Washington’s disapproving stare fueled his speed.

The Blue simulation trooper was trying (quite poorly) to put out the small flame he started on the ship’s small coffee machine. It had come pre-installed. Locus was not one for much coffee in the morning, else there would not have been one at all. He slapped it out in one fell swoop of a calloused hand. “What are you doing?”

“Agent Washington said you don’t like coffee!”

“I don’t hate it. I’m simply disinterested in it.” But he was seriously interested in knowing what made Washington talk about him to Caboose of all people. Or, just discuss him in general.

“Ahhh...that’s basically the same thing.”

“Okay, fine. But what were you doing?”

“Oh!” Caboose started pushing random buttons on the coffee machine. “I made you a hot chocolate machine! I mean, not “made” made, I had to borrow some parts from your coffee machine and the dishwasher, but it’s almost brand new!”

“I don’t have a washing mach--what?”

“See!” Caboose jammed a metal tin under the drip where coffee should have come out, and sure enough hot chocolate made from a milk base steadily dripped out. 

“That’s very nice, Caboose. I...didn’t know you had a background in engineering.” Didn’t know much of anything about him, truthfully. The extensive digging he and Felix had done on the Reds and Blue revealed that Caboose had seventeen sisters--and that was about it. All other reports otherwise indicated that Caboose had dropped off the face of the galaxy, though the tattoo on his arm painted a very different picture for Locus now. Boren's disease, was the official statement in the papers when the quietly reassigned SPARTAN I's began exhibiting signs of mental instability, though Locus knew better than to ever accept a word bureaucratic bullshit. Was he selected to be simulation trooper to hide his deficiencies, or had the Director of Project Freelancer thought it would be interesting to see how things played out between a Spartan and a Freelancer?

“Yeah, I have no idea what that is. This was way easier than moving Epsilon into his new body, that's for sure.”

“I can imagine so.”

“Here ya go!” The hot chocolate nearly splashed in his face from Caboose’s enthusiasm, Locus jerking back to avoid the hot milk. His pleased grin about split his face in two. 

“Thank you,” he said, carefully taking the tin from Caboose. The Blue seemed like he was still eagerly waiting for something, Locus eventually noticing it was his cue to try a sip. It was overwhelmingly sweet, and hotter than he was used to tolerating, burning his tongue. Locus tried to crack what probably looked like a very broken smile. “It’s quite good.”

“I always drink sweet stuff when I’m sad. Then I’m not sad anymore!”

“That sounds like a good habit to have.”

“That’s what Agent Washington said too!”


	3. Most Important Meal of the Day

A'rynasea’s radar alarm had Locus tumbling from his bunk and darting ahead to the console. Within seconds he had the HUD up in full screen, a tiny blip getting gradually closer to the planet. It was a tiny cruiser, no larger than his own ship, but Locus wasn’t about to let his guard down just yet. He knew for a fact that Red Base had no such equipment to detect inbound ships, and they rarely spent time in their busted Pelican. Not enough time or routine to alert them to someone approaching the planet. He only hoped that the ex-Freelancers had more sense to have some form of radar on hand, but if they didn’t…

The small sun had barely risen on the planet as he hoofed it across the canyon to the Blue’s base, the grass still dewy. He belated realized that he hadn’t even put on shoes, the his feet and ankles now wet and cold. Easily shaking off his discomfort, he flew through the doors and into the winding halls of the bunker, Blue Base a mirror image of Red Base, thankfully. 

Locus had very little searching to do, both Carolina and Washington up and about and in the kitchen. Carolina had been squinting over what appeared to be a cookbook while Washington and his handsome beard stood over the large stove, a ruffled blue apron tied around his waist. Both stared back at his sudden entrance. Locus flushed, inexplicably self conscious quite suddenly.

“Everything okay, big guy?”

Locus gaped like a fish out of water until he found his words, growing more flushed by the second. “There’s a ship inbound. It’ll be here--”

The moment Locus uttered “ship” Washington sprinted across the kitchen, spatula still in hand, to wave a hand at Locus to lower his voice. He cut himself off and tried to fight the look of awe that had tried to grace his features at Washington’s proximity.

“Oh, sorry, it’s okay,” Washington whispered. He glanced down the still dark hall of sleeping quarters before looking back to Locus. “Tucker’s son is coming for a surprise visit. We were going to hold a celebratory breakfast of sorts. Ish.”

“Oh. Then, uh, I’ll leave you to it. Sorry to disturb you.”

“You’re not dis--where you going?”

“Back to my...ship?”

“You’re welcome to stay.”

Locus’s gaze flickered back to Carolina, who was watching the two with rapt interest. “I wouldn’t wish to impose on a family event.”

“By virtue of living on this planet you’re basically family.” Washington scoffed. He playfully nudged his arm. “Stick around. We got enough food to feed a couple Grifs. Besides, I need someone’s help flipping bacon and pancakes. We only just got Carolina started on the basics of cracking an egg, and I’d actually like for this breakfast to be halfway decent.”

“The boys said I cook just fine, thank you very much,” said Carolina smugly. Washington’s face just flattened to a grimace.

“Uh-huh. And they love your singing, too.”

She laughed. “And don’t you forget it.”

Washington just shook his head and drifted back over to the oven. Locus followed at a lack of nothing else to do and not wishing to remain quite so obvious standing in the center of the kitchen, Carolina’s gaze firmly settled on him. Washington was preparing pancakes, several bowls of different batters besides the stovetop. Chocolate chips and cuts of fruit, it looked like. Possibly sensing the increasing awkwardness Locus thought he was creating, he passed the spatula over with a grin and disappeared briefly from view. Locus looked over what was on the stove but touched nothing, uncharacteristically afraid. He knew how to cook--that wasn’t the issue. Fuck, why’d he come running in like that? If he’d just walked in like a normal goddamn person--

Arms slowly but steadily appeared around his middle, a bundle of blue cloth passed around to the other hand and then pulled back against his middle. He straightened up as he felt Washington fiddle with what he now recognized as another apron, tying the ends together. The ex-Freelancer smoothed down one of the sides as he stepped away, almost an afterthought, then smiled and declared Locus suited up and fit for duty.

Locus gaped at the apron around his waist in an effort to avoid Washington’s gaze and detract attention from his flush. Washington chuckled lightly. “They were a housewarming gift from Donut.”

“That...sounds like something he would do?” Locus truthfully didn’t know, just the image everyone painted of Donut.

Washington continued to crack a grin. “He’d probably make one just for you if you asked.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Under Carolina’s continued supervision Locus flipped the pancakes Washington poured onto the various griddles they had going, pausing once in a while to deposit fresh pancakes into the oven to keep them warm. When Washington finally broke out a case of bacon, Locus diligently laid the sugared cuts of pork (grandparents had hailed from Canada, Washington said, and nobody made candied bacon quite like they did) and watched the pieces like a hawk. Washington waited by dutifully with a plate and paper towels as the bacon finished. Behind them Carolina finally moved from her perch and began to set the table quietly. Doors opened and closed down the hallways, the base finally showing further signs of life. 

It was, arguably, the most heartwarming and ass-clenchingly tense breakfast Locus had ever participated in. He was never fucking doing this again.

Thick arms entrapped him in a barehug and lifted Locus so high off the floor his head nearly touched the ceiling. He roared and kicked back his feet , definitely striking knees and sending them both to the ground. The moment his toes touched solid ground he was breaking free of the arms and sending a spinning kick to--motherfucking Caboose.

Caboose wasn’t embedded in the wall but damn near close. Locus was over him in seconds, feeling carefully for injuries. Caboose, meanwhile, was shrieking his head off.

“Mr. Hocus Pocus! You’re here for breakfast!”

“Caboose, where are you hurt?”

Washington suddenly pulled him away, a expression tight though he tried not to show his panic. Carolina was inches behind Locus, poised to strike. He felt like shit.

“Caboose, are you okay?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m goods! Church said I had a really thick skull, so it can take a lot of punches. I think I’m gonna sit here for a minute.”

Christ, Locus was DEFINITELY never doing this again.

He stood awkwardly in front of Caboose, unsure how to handle a situation that definitely seemed it called for a more psychiatric approach rather than a medical one. When Washington finally met his eyes, he stumbled out, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to--”

“It’s okay,” Washington said quickly, cutting him off. He took a heavy breath. “No one’s...seriously injured. I think. It’s happened before…”

“Wash--”

“Oh my God!” came Caboose’s shrill voice. “ Washingtub’s bacon!”

“Yep,” said Washington, fractured grin in place. “With extra sugar, buddy. But before that, you need to tell me the rules again.”

“Don’t kill the leader!”

“Okay, besides that one.”

“Only color on Tucker’s face with Crayola markers, not Sharpies!”

“How about the one where we ask people permission first before we hug them?”

“Oh! Right!” He looked to Locus. “Mr. Hocus Pocus, can I hug you?”

“It’s kinda late for that, Caboose. What do you say?”

“I’m sorry for squeezing your insides out.”

“It’s okay, just--some warning?”

“Roger!” Caboose tried to scramble to stand but was stopped by Carolina, who helped him up more slowly. She shot Locus a glance as she moved Caboose to the kitchen table, setting him down carefully before moving to pour the Spartan some juice. Washington lovingly rubbed his hair before returning to the stove to clean things off and set aside some eggs to be cooked shortly. Locus carefully backed out of the kitchen and outside before anyone could notice, taking minimal comfort in the light breeze and thankfully, now dry grass.

Fingering the edges of the blue apron around his waist, he danced back and forth over heading back to A'rynasea before someone spoke up.

“Christ, if you guys get wound any tighter we could start a diamond business. You guys could crush coal with you asses.”

Locus was shocked to see Carolina standing in the entrance, leaning casually against the door. Actually, he was more shocked those words came out of her mouth.

“Word of advice? Go make them both hot chocolate, and don’t bring it up again unless Wash does.”

“I’m not sure I should…”

“Jesus,” she groaned. “Look, you’re an ex-merc, we’re ex-Freelancers, and Caboose is an ex-Spartan. No amount of down time or peace or therapy is gonna cure the clusterfuck of PTSD we all have. Accidents fucking happen. I break things--Caboose has shot people on accident and still wakes up screaming. Wash has done the same thing you have, and not just to Caboose. It still eats him alive on daily basis, and he sees so much of himself in you his empathy gets the best of him. Normally, I’d leave that for him to tell, but at the rate you two are moving that’s not gonna happen before you’re both in your 80s. So pick up your big girl panties, get your ass in there, and don’t ruin the fucking surprise party for Tucker and his kid.”

When Locus just stared at her, she marched forward to grab him. “Shift it!” He slipped out of her grasp and back inside, single mindedly heading for the fridge to start pulling stuff out. Relieving, Washington was no longer in the kitchen, though Tucker had joined Caboose.

“No wonder you dudes made so much food--the Reds are showing up.” He got up to start filling his plate, but Carolina lightly slapped his hand away.

“You can wait a few more minutes for everyone to get here.”

“Aw, seriously? Grif’s black hole is probably gearing up to suck it up from Red Base.”

“Locus is the only one here, the bacon is safe.”

“Fine…”

Washington meanadered back in at that point, Tucker groaning out that he was starving and if he could eat now. He was thankfully close enough by now that Locus didn’t have to make much of a show of walking over to hand him the hot chocolate, eyes fixed over his shoulder instead of his eyes or wonderful beard. Though he didn’t smile his posture relaxed and he accepted the hot chocolate, leaving Locus to awkwardly pass the other mug off to Caboose, who gleefully accepted and patted the seat next to him. Tucker moaned that he was starving again when a juvenile Sanghelli entered the room, nearly sending Locus from his seat if not for the tight grip Carolina had on his leg. Washington sat down across from Locus with a light groan.

“Yeah, I guess we should eat now before it gets cold. Junior, there’s fresh juice in the fridge if you want any.”

Tucker sent his chair flying in his rush to get up. “What?!” The moment he saw the Sanghelli he rushed to embrace it, hugging it tight. 

Locus looked to the others for clarification.

“His son,” Washington mouthed.

The two exchanged warbled greetings to each other before helping themselves to food, the others gradually joining with their plates to take pieces from the mini buffet. They sat together at the cramped tables, elbows constantly knocking and legs well entangled. Locus fought the need to scrunch into a ball and make himself less noticeable.

Junior shared the recent exploits of his basketball team and the other schools they were going to play against soon. Locus was surprised to hear he was actually attending a school with humans. Caboose enthusiastically told him about the soft ball equipment he and Simmons had cobbled together the other day, and how Junior was going to love softball by the time he left the planet whether he liked it or not. As the food dwindled and the conversation began winding down Caboose tugged Junior down the hall to see the new additions to the scrapbook he made and his plans for more volumes, Tucker following behind. Locus, mindful of what his tía drilled into him from a young age, began collecting plates to take to the sink. If there was a dishwasher, he didn’t see one, but was just as well, because he prefered washing things by hand anyways. Carolina helped bring the rest of the plates to the sink and began to dry, neatly stacking them back in their place. 

At some point Washington paused by Locus’s shoulder to set something down on the counter, though he purposefully didn’t look, wary of meeting the other man’s gaze. Though small, a pit had sat in his stomach all throughout the breakfast, despite the occasional smile sent his way from all members of Blue team. Washington said he would go get the Reds for softball and Carolina affirmed she heard him. As the easy silence resumed save for the clink of dishes, Locus finally looked down. It was a fresh cup of steaming hot chocolate.


	4. Prompts

Sorry if I got anyone's hopes up for a new chapter--I would love to keep writing more for this, but I wanted to more formally ask for prompts from you guys. Been struggling a bit with coming up with more solid chapter plans, and mainly just have snippets. I've already gotten one suggestion for Lopez and Locus speaking Spanish with each other and have started working on a chapter featuring that, but legit, if people have suggestions and things they wanna see, I am all ears. I've enjoyed this goofy cast of characters since middle school, and love writing about them.

Other things I would like to include, though I don't know if they'll get their own chapter or just segments within a chapter. Feel free to build on any of these or suggestion revisions:

\- Locus interacting with Donut and hearing of Donut's past in Iowa (because I'm not sure they get much interaction ever)  
\- Simmons trying and failing to establish much of a connection with Locus because that's his luck.  
\- Locus officially getting a bunk and a volley ball, and his reaction  
\- Grif Ball!  
\- The sport that involves specifically a "baseball racket".   
\- Friendly competition between Locus and Carolina  
\- Sarge and Caboose's strange friendship  
\- Locus and Washington moving towards a more official direction (though this will feature far later after more character building and be awkward as fuck)  
\- Group road trip from hell  
\- Locus trying to figure out Kaikiana  
\- Tucker handling Locus on his own after working alongside Felix himself for so long  
\- Locus dealing with the fallout from being aligned with Felix for so long (one of the reasons I identified with Locus early on--on more levels than are necessarily comfortable--like the Washington chapter, this will be a bit further out, as it requires more development across multiple chapters)


	5. Growing Pains

Locus hadn’t actively been looking for Wash or his good looking beard. He had been actively avoiding team building exercises with the Reds. And by team building he meant helping the Reds build a 1000 piece Lego set while Sarge timed them. 

Okay, while Simmons and Donut built a 1000 piece Lego set. Grif did what he could to stick the most difficult pieces to pry apart together, and then preceded to take the longest “bathroom break” ever. Locus had listened in for a short while from the kitchen before Donut pointed out that he’d been missing out on all the fun and that they should invite him. He’d swiftly booked it out of there, though halfway to Blue Base he realized he didn’t actually have a plan. AND he left his book on the table.

Awkwardness and an inability to evade it as effortlessly as Grif spurred the ex-merc forward slightly faster. 

It was nice out, making the Reds’ seclusion indoors all the more absurd, but judging by their still pasty complexions, excluding Grif, he wasn’t too surprised. 

Turning the corner of Blue Base Locus found Carolina and Caboose outside practicing yoga. Or, at least Carolina was. There wasn’t a word in English or Spanish that described whatever the hell Caboose was doing.

“MR. HOCUS POCUS!” Caboose shrieked, immediately stopping to sprint at Locus. He barely managed to dodge the blue bullet headed for him, Caboose leaping several feet in the air to tackle him to the ground. He hit the dirt with a loud “oomph” sound. Carolina just sighed.

“Hello, Locus.”

“Carolina--oof” Before Locus could even help the man stand up, Caboose leapt up and bear hugged the rest of the breath from his body.

“Can’t even get him to manage THAT in a fight,” she said, heading shaking as she dropped out of her stance. Locus gently pried Caboose from around him, though the Blue seemed to insist on getting to hold his hand and squeeze it almost unbearably tight. He tried to tolerate it.

Didn’t matter. Carolina noticed. “Caboose, what did we say about touching people without asking?”

“Don’t do it!”

“So do you think you should be holding Locus’s hand if you haven’t asked him if you can first?”

“Oh God, geez, God, I’m sorry Mr. Hocus Pocus. Church says I’d lose my head if it wasn’t stapled to me I have a horrible memory did you know memory is the key?”

Maybe Blue Base was a bad idea too.

“SO….Wash and I have been discussing getting Caboose back into fighting shape. Or, at least somewhat better shape than what he’s in right now,” Carolina said loudly. Caboose spotted bug and tore after it. “He’s physically the strongest guy we know--probably could’ve taken Maine in an arm wrestling contest if he wanted. But his combat skills are...lacking. Or, maybe not lacking is the right word. He’s--forgotten them?”

Locus was still reeling a bit but didn’t sprint back to his ship. Wash was still around here somewhere. “Ah.”

Carolina sighed. “We’ve been bouncing ideas back and forth regarding how to go about it…” she trailed off, rather purposefully. Locus sighed to himself but took the bait.

“And?”

“And...we’re possibly still stuck on getting him to focus.”

“I...noticed.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, not really. You would be doing everyone, to include Caboose, a favor by reminding him he’s not to touch people without asking. We do actually wanna be able to take him to a restaurant or something without causing trouble. He’s fine once they hand him the kids menus with the crayons to color on, but getting to that point is...tricky.”

Locus had been watching Caboose out of the corner of his eye until his hindbrain picked up on what she’d actually said. Carolina looked dead serious. He didn’t take the bait again.

“So...where’s Washington?”

“Napping. His body’s not bouncing back as quickly as he’d like, but I finally convinced him it’s okay if he actually, you know, rests.”

Locus nodded lightly in agreement.

“And don’t you fucking wake him up, Locus.”

“I wasn’t--”

“You are as red as motherfucking beet, Locus, do not bullshit me right now.”

“Ms. Carolina!” Caboose shouted from where he’d been frolicking some ways off. “Is it snack time yet?”

“Just your milk box, Caboose!” Caboose sprinted past the two of them into Blue Base, shoes flying off in his wake. Carolina spoke no more about his lingering red face. “I think it’s a sensory thing. We actually don’t know if the SPARTAN enhancement caused it or he’s got some undiagnosed autism. Wash’s youngest sister had--HAS--it, so he picked up on Caboose’s tics earlier. There’s definitely serious brain trauma, without a doubt.”

“Just...shoes?”

Carolina tried to mask her smile. “Yes, just shoes, Locus. No nude Cabooses mowing you down anytime soon.” She glanced to the open door of the base and her voice dropped in pitch. “Though I bet you’d welcome Wash plowing you over nude…”

“What was that?”

“Christ, Grif wasn’t joking when he you make Sarge proud by how red you turn.”

“Ms. Carolina! Is Mr. Hocus Pocus playing with us today?”

“...do you want him to, Caboose?”

“I love making friends! Best friends for for everyone!”

And that would have been his cue to leave, were it not for the serious Freelancer grip strength he underestimated. His arm was gonna bruise. “As a matter of fact, he is! He’s gonna play with us all afternoon, isn’t that right, Locus? Especially if he wants the code to Washington’s room and NOT wake up under six feet of dirt.”

Caboose clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh that’s bad! Red Sergeant did that once! He said it was very dark and scary and that it made him cry a lot.”

Tempting though the offer was, Locus was prepared to take his chances lingering in the hall of Blue Base instead. Correction, his arm wasn’t bruising--Caroline was about to snap his humerus. 

“Yes, Caboose….I will help you train--ow--play. Play.”

.o.

Getting Caboose to begin his stretches once again had been initially easy. Locus sat down to begin stretching his legs and Caboose happily followed suit like a little brother finally being invited into his older brother’s troupe. It was getting to the actual stretching that was proving difficult. For as much as the man landed on his head, he was handling the pain poorly.

“You have to stretch Caboose,” Carolina chided.

“But it hurts! A lot.”

Locus tried not to feel awkward as he helped shuffle Caboose’s legs into doing butterflies, pressing down on the sides of his knees till he felt resistance. Caboose was surprisingly more limber than he appeared. “It’ll hurt more if you don’t.”

“Ow!” And Caboose was now jerking out of his grip, as if to stand. Carolina about leapt for him.

“Caboose! Caboose,” Locus gritted out in a stilted tone. His cheeks flushed again. “You...have to stretch. Because if you don’t...my legs will stretch more than yours will, and I will win the game. Don’t you want to win?”

“My mom said everyone’s a winner!”

“Nope, not here, Caboose,” Carolina interrupted. “Winners get brownies. Losers don’t get to eat brownies.”

“I love brownies!” He looked Locus dead in the eye. “You’re going down.”

“Now that’s the spirit!” Carolina laughed. The awkward trio continued stretching with a bit more enthusiasm from Caboose, the younger man mimicking Locus rather well, minus slightly less flexibility. Carolina was very visibly pleased, and Locus feared he might never get free time again now that she knew he was a secret weapon to use against Caboose. Once Carolina finally deemed them well stretched enough, she wrestled old boxing gloves onto Caboose’s hands. Locus may or may not have had to help hold the man still.

“What are you hoping to achieve through these…exercises?”

Carolina finished lacing up the gloves. “A little more...independence on Caboose’s part.”

“Didn’t he tie people’s shoelaces during a battle completely undetected?” Locus wouldn’t have believed it if not for the fact Tucker got Caboose to repeat his performance to Locus. Locus chose not to be too embarrassed by it because he tripped right into Wash’s arms as a result.

“I am the sneakiest. No one sees me coming.”

Carolina grinned from one side of her mouth and clapped Caboose’s gloves together. “And believe me, we’re very proud. But it’ll do everyone’s hearts some good if you know a little self defense too, okay? There’s been lot of close calls, Caboose.”

Locus thought briefly of Felix, of the shotgun he’d intended to fire point blank in Caboose’s face. The thought of Washington’s horrified expression had they lost Caboose summoned regret far faster than the image of the former SPARTAN’s brains exploded everywhere. He wondered if he felt bad only because Caboose’s death would’ve delayed his opportunity to be closer to Wash. 

He wondered what Felix would’ve had to say about that.

“Okay!” Caboose chirped.

Carolina tossed Locus a pair of gloves he heavily suspected were Washington’s. He tried not to be happy about it. “How do you wish to approach this? Find a technique similar to his usual approach or start with the basics he likely learned as a SPARTAN?”

“Wash is under the impression that imitating training he probably received as a SPARTAN might help jog his memory. He told me once his sister had an amazing capacity for memory, but struggled a lot in school because she used it a bit, uh, selectively.”

“She only remembered what interested her?”

“Precisely. But, she’d frequently whip out random bits of information of things they’d all thought she’d forgotten weeks later if she thought it related to a conversation they were having. Caboose--” Carolina paused to allow the younger man a chance to chime in “that’s me!” before continuing. “--can engineer things that shouldn’t even go together. So he’s obviously remembering a fair bit from his SPARTAN days. I think he might remember some of his basic training, too, if we give him a boost.”

“Should I just start swinging at him?”

“What? No-no-no-no, God, no. We’re going to start with some simple punches and blocks and get the ball rolling from there.”

Caboose abruptly disappeared from between them, rolling forward down the hill with a series of giggling shrieks.

.o.

Locus was fucking done.

Caboose had zero focus. Any attempts to teach him simple drills took quite a while to nail down, and asking him parrot back what he just learned was like pulling teeth. Locus thought back to what Carolina told him about Washington’s sister, about her voluntary forgetfulness if the subject didn’t interest her. The longer the drills dragged out, the more Locus was starting to sense that Caboose might’ve actually been fucking with them.

“Like this?”

“Almost,” Carolina sighed again, easily dodging his poorly aimed swing. Getting him to be marginally okay with trying to hit them had taken an hour in an of itself.

Locus thought he actually might be seeing red. Carolina was a very intelligent woman--Locus painfully aware of the magnitude of what she could pull of. But this had rapidly become fruitless.

“He’s bored. It’s pointless to continue right now.”

Carolina fixed her tired stare at him. “His being bored is not my concern right now. His safety is.”

“At this point he’s doing this wrong on purpose. He won’t regain any muscle memory if he continues to do it wrong.”

“He’s not doing it wrong on purpose, Locus.”

“Yes, he is! At this point you’re doing him a disservice!”

“He’s gone most of his young life with frequently untreated head trauma! The first time he ever saw medical treatment for a head injury was when Wash first met him! Let’s see how your short term memory holds up after we run you over with the jeep!”

“You all continue to baby him! He’s not going to learn anything thanks to you!”

Carolina ducked and Locus had only a few seconds to see the determination and anger burning in Caboose’s eyes, as well as the fist, coming straight for his face before it hit it’s mark and his face burst with pain an a fair amount of blood. Carolina hadn’t been joking--there was deadly force coiled in Caboose’s body. 

Years of finely honing his abilities to fight helped to keep Locus standing, but he stumbled back regardless. Blood dripped down his chin from his busted lip, but the pain was minor in comparison to his shock.

Carolina was shrieking with a childish glee and doing her best to swing Caboose around. “Yes, Caboose! You got it!”

“Did I do it?”

“You did, buddy!”

“Yes! I am the best person ever! Yes! All the brownies for me!”

Carolina set him down and ruffled his hair so hard it didn’t stand a chance of laying flat again. “That’s right. No brownies for Locus.”

Two hands covered in boxing gloves were suddenly smooshing Locus’s cheeks together, Caboose’s wide blue eyes inches from his own. “Oh my gosh! Mr. Hocus Pocus! You hurt yourself! Quick, we need a defribublatater-thingie! I’ll get you crutches!” And then he was gone.

“What’s the matter, he knock your jaw out of alignment, too? Pick up your jaw, Locus.” Carolina grinned as she sauntered by, pausing to yank Locus’s borrowed gloves off his hands. “But just in case, Tucker’s prepared a mean dino steak stew for dinner in case anyone lost teeth. Scrub your face before you come sit down--I’ll find you a non-bloody shirt.”

“What the fuck are you guys doing? Ooh, did you guys finally square off again? Grif and I have been betting on how long it would take. Damn it, I missed it!” Tucker groaned from the base behind them. Locus’s gaze never left Carolina until Washington drifted into view, mussed from sleep and sweatpants almost purposefully lower on his hips than was accidental. Locus grabbed for the exposed skin without thinking and Washington allowed it, though the ex-merc winced when Wash dabbed his lip with a cloth and ice.

“So...what’d we learn today?”

“I…” 

“We learned the importance of trusting our teammates, right?” Washington lightly took his chin to make him nod his head. “Say, ‘Yes, David, I know now I need to put a little more faith in my new teammates, just like they’ve been putting faith and patience in with me’.” Washington held the ice back to Locus’s lip and he gripped the man’s hips a little tighter. “And this is part where I say, ‘We all know trust isn’t going to come easy to you, Locus, and we won’t always get along, and that’s okay, because that’s a part of growing. It takes time. Just like Caboose is going to take some time. But we’ll all make time for each other because that’s what family’s do, right?’”

“...right.”

“See? Not so hard. Would you believe that Carolina is actually the more forgiving of the two of us?”

“Uh…”

“God this shirt is ruined. Luckily we’re about the same size--seriously, Locus, I need you to breathe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a family that's been dealing with autism, brain trauma, and epilepsy for years, and in that time, I think I've only read one book total that had an autistic character, and one total with a character impacted by brain trauma and dealing with it the rest of the story.
> 
> Also shout-out to Lionfire42, who asked for a Carolina/Caboose chapter with Carolina instructing Caboose on fighting, and it it ending with someone getting decked. XD

**Author's Note:**

> My love for Washington and Locus wasn't surprising in the slightest--what did take me off guard was my love for Locus and Grif partnering up. What even is this amazing show?
> 
> Please ignore my shit title.


End file.
